


DisneyClan - Arc 1 - Into The Forest

by ShapeShiftersandFire



Series: Disney Warrior Cats [1]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Cartoons (Classic), Disney Princesses, Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Multi, Warrior Cats AU, disneyclan, your favorite disney characters now as warrior cats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-07 06:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShapeShiftersandFire/pseuds/ShapeShiftersandFire
Summary: The old gray tom the streets called Disney had an idea. And it all started with a kit named Mickey.





	1. ALLEGIANCES

DISNEY – gray tabby tom

MICKEY– small, longhaired cream-colored seal point tom

MINNIE – longhaired cream-colored seal point molly

DONALD – fluffy white tom

GOOFY – lanky black tom

PETE – large, round messy-furred black tom with a pale muzzle

CLARABELL– black and white molly

MORTIMER – long-legged black tom with minimal white spotting

HORACE – dark brown tom with a pale muzzle

DAISY – longhaired white molly


	2. Prologue

They ran and didn’t look back. The Gates shrunk behind them, the shrieks faded out to an eerie echo. The gray tabby clutched his son in his teeth by the scruff, running as far and as fast from the grounds as he could. It was no place for a kit.

The tabby’s group followed closely behind, eyes wide with terror, ears ringing with those piercing screams. All of them bristled, desperate to get away. They nearly tripped over themselves and each other as they tried to leave the Gates behind as soon as they could.

The party ran, ran until they were in the heart of the city, far from the Gates, far from the terror, far from the noise. There was new noise, city noise, now, but it was a welcomed relief. They huddled in an alley, shaking and terrified, just beginning to come down from their adrenaline rushes. As the group panted, and the gray tabby’s kit huddled fearfully between his forepaws, a brown tom stepped forward.

The gray tabby the streets called Disney saw the glimmer of a challenge brewing in the brown tom’s eyes. He shook his head, panting still.

“Not now, Charles.” He looked around at the gathered cats, now sinking to their bellies and curling up against each other. A few had already fallen asleep. “It’s been a long night for all of us. Let’s talk in the morning, when we’ve all had some rest.”

Charles, thankfully, nodded and backed away, the glimmer fading from his eyes. He went and made himself comfortable in a pile of old boxes.

As Charles drifted to sleep, Disney looked up at the sky. The stars were out, shining brightly as ever. His heart swelled with relief. How long it had been since he’d seen those stars. Moons spent living among shadows, under starless skies, had nearly made him forget what the stars looked like. He calmed, knowing the cats of the past were looking down on him once more.

“Father?”

Disney looked down from the stars to the little black kit nestled between his forepaws. His son was looking up, either at him or the stars, he wasn’t certain, with wide eyes. “Yes, Oswald?”

“What are we going to do now?” The territory behind the Gates, he remembered, was the only home Oswald had ever know.

Disney sighed. “For now, we’ll sleep.” Under StarClan, no less. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk about what we’ll do next.”

“Okay.” Oswald yawned widely, revealing a sharp little set of kit teeth. Disney smiled.

He picked up Oswald by the scruff and went to another pile of boxes not far from Charlies, here where his friend, a dark brown tabby the streets called Ub lay, still awake. Disney settled down. Oswald fell asleep instantly. He sighed, resting his head on his paws and looked out over the cats. “I fear what tomorrow brings, Ub.”

Ub snorted. “Nothing good, I’m sure. Charles has had that gleam in his eye for weeks now.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”

He heard Ub sigh. “Tomorrow may be the end of our clan, Disney.”

“Yes,” Disney sighed, “I fear that.” Part of him wasn’t surprised. Tension had been rising for moons now, it was bound to come to a tipping point. The other part of him hoped his fears were wrong. If the clan could come through this, surely it meant they could come through anything–everything–else?

“Tomorrow is a new day,” Ub said, and Disney could hear the apprehension in his voice. “A–what was that you said?–great big, beautiful tomorrow?”

It was a half-hearted attempt at a joke, but it made Disney chuckle nonetheless. “Yes, something like that.” But Ub had fallen asleep before Disney had even finished. And, with a little touch of happiness to ease his mind, Disney soon followed.

 

The “talk” Charles had wanted to have in the morning was anything but. Almost immediately, before anyone had had the chance to wash their ears, Charles was accusing Disney of endangering them all.

“Those cats shouldn’t have died!” he snarled. “We should have suspecting something was wrong when the humans stopped showing up. You were supposed to keep them safe! You should have known!”

Disney blinked, blindsided by the argument. “None of us could have known what was in the water,” he said. “There was no way to tell. No, Thomas and Jackson should not have died, but how were we to know the water was infected? Drinking it never made us sick.”

“You were supposed to keep us safe,” Charles repeated. “Now there’s something loose in there, something was stalking us at every pawstep, something tried to kill us last night. We barely escaped with our lives!”

Disney couldn’t argue that. Charles was right. He glanced up at the sky, clear and blue. “StarClan had abandoned us,” he whispered.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Charles growled. “Your precious StarClan left us at the mercy of forces none of us could fight off. They left us to die!”

Disney winced. The other cats cringed. Oswald pressed against his father’s flank.

“We can find a new home,” Disney offered. “The forest has plenty of room for us.”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head. “No. You’re not fit to be leader. I won’t stay with you.”

The cats fell silent. They stared between Charles and Disney with wide eyes, waiting.

Disney blinked, his heart pounding in his ears. “Where will you go? There’s nothing but city for miles.” Surely Charles wasn’t thinking of becoming a house cat?

Charles looked down at his paws, then back to Disney. “There’s another clan,” he said. “West of the city. They call themselves the Universals. I plan on going there with any cats who wish to join me.” As his eyes scanned the group, the cats looked around sheepishly. Disney’s heart sank, his stomach knotted. This was planned, he was sure of it. How long had Charles spent trying to convince the other cats to leave with him?

He watched as, one by one, with mumbled but heartfelt apologies, all of his cats but Ub and Oswald went to stand with Charles.

The end of the Clan indeed.

Disney sighed. “So be it, then. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better leader to you all. Go safely.” He couldn’t make them stay. He wouldn’t.

He was surprised when Charles’ face softened, just for a moment, before settling into something that was a mixture of anger and regret.

“Give me Oswald.”

Disney froze. He stared, jaw gaping as he tried to find the words to protest. Give him Oswald? Oswald? “No, Charles, he’s my son!”

“Your son nearly died last night.”

“So did all of us.”

“That’s exactly why I want him. Give me Oswald, Disney. He’ll be safer with us.”

“No!” Little Oswald protested. He jumped out from behind his father. “Father, I don’t want to go with them. I want to stay with you! Don’t make me go with them!”

“I won’t, Oswald,” Disney said, nuzzling his son. “You don’t have to go anywhere–”

“Give me the kit, Disney.”

Ub snarled. “You mind your mouth, Charles. He’s my nephew and he doesn’t want to go.”

“And mine!” Charles spit. “I have as much right to him as either of you. He’s coming with me. He’ll be better off.”

“I don’t want to go!” Oswald protested. “I want to stay here!”

“I know, Oswald,” Disney said, but Charles lunged forward, narrowly missing Disney’s paw swatting him, “You don’t have a choice,” and chaos erupted.

Ub screeched and lunged for Charles, claws unsheathed; Disney yanked Oswald to safety as Charles’ cats moved in, pulling Ub and Charles apart, and snatching Oswald right from Disney’s mouth. He tried to get his kit back, but was stopped his his former clanmates, until he and Ub were effectively blocked from reach Charles or Oswald, who yowled for his father as he was carried away.

Disney snarled. “Bring him back, Charles!”

Charles bared his teeth. “He’ll be safer with us, Disney. If you want your son back, you’ll either have to fight us or join us. But whatever you choose, Oswald is coming with us.”

His cats back off, leaving Ub and Disney sitting stunned and distraught as the group disappeared around the corner. Oswald still cried and protested, the sounds growing fainter in the city noise. The group’s scent faded just as quickly, mingling into the city atmosphere.

_He took my son._ Disney could already feel the physical void in the alley and the emotional one in his heart that Oswald had filled.

Ub huffed. “What are we going to do now?”

_About Oswald, about the Clan…_

Disney shook his head. “We don’t have the resources to fight them,” he said. “And I’m too stubborn to roll over and join anyone.” He sighed. “I don’t know that there’s anything we can do at the moment.”

“Damn.” Ub huffed again. “I’ll miss Oswald.”

“I’ll bring him home one day,” Disney promised. “For now, we try again.We start over. We learn from this. And we do better.”


	3. Chapter 1

It was the hardest rainfall the city had seen that year. The drains could barely keep up with the amount of water rushing into the streets, to the point that puddles in the roads began to look more like rivers.

The city cats had long since scrambled for cover, shacking up in old factories and empty stores. Disney was one such cat, taking refuge in a loading dock bay, watching the pouring rain from inside.

He was alone these days. Ub had since left, not long after his decision to try to rebuild the clan. Finding cats to join was nearly impossible when they’d all somehow gotten wind of the incident in the old territory. Ub had gotten fed up with Disney’s insistence that they keep trying, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

_I’m sorry, Disney, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep fighting for a clan that can’t get off the ground. I need to move on._

And so he did, and Disney let him.

He hadn’t seen Ub since.

Every night since then, when the stars came out, Disney prayed to StarClan that Ub was safe and happy. But he had no way of knowing if his prayers had been answered.

Another flash of lightning and he flinched. Even in the safety of the loading dock he felt too close to the storm. He hoped his former clanmates could find as much safety.

Then came a lull in the storm, when the rain let up and the lightning vanished. Disney rested his head on his paws, watching the water drip from the gutter. His ears swiveled forward, listening to the distant rumble of thunder as the storm at last moved on.

It was then, as the rumble of thunder faded out, that Disney heard a peculiar sound. It was drowned out and high-pitched, nearly like a whistle, but with a feline tone. Disney stood, ears forward, and padded out of the dark toward the sound.

He followed it out from behind the dock–nothing under the trailers or trucks–and to the front of the building. Nothing caught his eye immediately; the streets were uncharacteristically empty in the wake of the storm. No cars, no cats, no humans. Nothing but Disney and the source of the strange wailing.

A preliminary of the empty area revealed nothing out the ordinary. A second scan revealed a small shape huddled under a nearby mailbox.

Disney trotted over and crouched down. Huddled underneath the mailbox was a small cream colorpoint kit, fur plastered to its skin. It stopped wailing when it saw Disney crouched down and staring, and back further under the mailbox. For an instant, Disney saw Oswald, only a few moons old and staring at him with wide brown eyes. He blinked, and looking back at him instead was the small cream kit.

“It’s alright, son,” Disney said. The kit continued to stare. “Where are your parents?”

The kit regained enough of his senses to shrug and shake his head.

Disney sighed. “Come inside. You’ll be safer in the loading dock. It’s warm and dry.”

The kit nodded, and on unsteady lets teetered toward Disney until the older cat was able to scoop the kit up by the scruff and carry him into the loading dock. The kit was heavier, and slightly bigger, than Disney expected, and it took more effort than he thought to carry the kit to the temporary nest he had set up. He dropped the kit in the nest, curled around him, and licked the kit’s fur in the opposite direction to warm him up.

With that, it didn’t take long for the kit to fall asleep. Disney made him as comfortable a possible, then laid his head on his paws and watched as the rain began anew.

  
  


The kit’s name was Mickey and he was six moons old.

“You’re a bit small for six moons,” Disney said as Mickey leapt at a butterfly. The kit had perked up considerably since the night before; now he was hopping around and chasing butterflies.

“My parents were small, too, I think,” Mickey said. He sneezed as the butterfly landed on his nose.

They were on their way to the houses, where Mickey thought he lived. He couldn’t remember his parents or which house he lived in as well as he thought. He’d been with another human before the storm struck and he’d gotten lost in the streets. Disney decided the houses was a good place to start; if they could find Mickey’s parents, then perhaps they could help Mickey find his human.

Disney nodded understandingly, though he was still surprised. Mickey was only the size of a four or five moon old kitten and barely came up to his shoulder. He was the smallest cat Disney had ever seen.

Mickey trotted alongside Disney, fluffy tail waving in the breeze. “How long until we reach the houses?”

Disney surveyed the area. They were on the border of the heart of the city, though to anyone unfamiliar with the city, one area looked like any other, beginning to move into the more residential areas that would eventually give way to less dense sections and eventually the sparsely populated neighborhoods. He reasoned that, if they went for the majority of the day, they would arrive at the houses at this time within a few days’ time. But when he said this to Mickey, the kit looked decidedly dejected, having hoped to get home sooner.

“I understand, son,” Disney said. “But the city is a big place, and it takes time to get through it.”

Mickey nodded, not looking any more satisfied with the answer.

Disney sighed and looked around at their surroundings. This was an area well-hunted, frequented by rats and mice, and anyone looking for a decent meal. “Why don’t I catch us something to eat?”

This caught Mickey’s attention; the upset expression on his face faded into curiosity. “Catch?” he asked. “What do you mean catch?”

It occurred to Disney that the most hunting experience Mickey might have ever had was with fake mice dangled in front of him on strings—and the word _hunt_ as the street cats knew it very well may not have been in his vocabulary. House cats were strange that way.

“Like this.” Disney dropped into a hunter’s crouch in demonstration, but quickly spotted a rat creeping through a stack of boxes up against one wall of the alley. He moved slowly and with light paws; stalking a rat on pavement was far different than stalking a rat on grass: less sound, more visibility. Even the most skilled of city hunters had difficulties catching a meal.

It was to his advantage that the wind wasn’t blowing, and that the rat had its back to him, snuffling through the remains some discarded human food for a decent meal. What it found instead was Disney’s claws, and it was Disney who found a decent meal instead.

He picked up the rat and brought it back to Mickey. The kit stared at with awe and wonder, round-eyed.

“Wow,” he breathed, switching between staring at the rat and staring at Disney. “Will you teach me how to do that?”

“Of course,” Disney said with a purr. With the time it would take them to leave the city, it would be enough for him to teach Mickey the basics of hunting. These, of course, could be used in any environment, but it took a special skill set to use in the city. Disney hoped Mickey would never have to learn that particular set. A backyard hunting skill was far better for the kit. Presently, he nudged the rat toward Mickey with one paw. “Go on, try it.”

The kit looked at it with a wrinkled nose; rats were by no means the best-smelling of creatures and their taste was one that took time to get used to. Depending on those trying it for the first time, it was either unpleasantly strange or pleasantly strange. Most found it unpleasantly strange and unappealing. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the city cats ate what they could find. “Is this safe?” Mikey asked. “It smells funny.”

Disney nodded. “They all tend to smell like that,” he said. Sour and with a tinge of oil and the air of the sewers stuck to their fur. Some smelled like kitchen grease, some like moldy subways, but the majority smelled like sewers. All an acquired taste.

Mickey glanced up at Disney, still uncertain, but then slowly bit into the rat and came away with a piece. He chewed carefully a moment before grimacing sharply and spitting a piece of half-chewed rat onto the pavement. “That’s gross!”

“I’m afraid that’s all there is for a while now,” Disney said gently. “We won’t reach the restaurant strip until later in the day.” The pigeons were too high up for Disney to go chasing. And he wasn’t leaving Mickey alone with the kind of rabble that ran through the streets.

The kit frowned deeply, staring at the rat. A moment of silent deliberation passed before Mickey at last bit into the rat again, chewed, and swallowed with a shiver. Not quite unlike Disney’s first time trying rat, although he dared say he was used to the unusual taste from the beginning.

They ate in silence. When they had finished, Disney tucked the remains of the rat up against the wall, with a quick prayer of thanks to StarClan for its life. The he led Mickey away from the alley, and they continued through the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i, in my infinite wisdom, completely and utterly neglected to post this chapter. this is the REAL chapter one. the chapter you saw before this was chapter two. sorry for the confusion.


	4. Chapter 2

Over the course of the day, they passed a wide variety of cats, some Disney knew by name, others he didn’t. Some he had interacted with on a nameless basis, simply settling a score for them over a dead rat or some other food source. He nodded to anyone who caught his eye, though most tended to stare at him curiously as he went along with the kit at his side. These were cats who had heard through a distant grapevine of his endeavor to start a clan, and they watched him carefully, perhaps hoping he wouldn’t stop to ask them to leave their lives behind and start anew with him.

Of course, he would never ask them to do such a thing. He knew how important their livelihoods were to them, however fragile they may have been; street living was no easy thing. Only the toughest and smartest—and luckiest—of cats lived to be as old as Disney.

As they passed a pair of black cats standing over a box of half-eaten chicken, Mickey pressed against Disney. “They don’t look very friendly.” With their gleaming golden eyes and bared fangs, Disney quite agreed.

“They won’t hurt you,” Disney promised. “City cats are far more civilized than most would think.” Indeed, the city cats had a particular code of honor, unspoken but well-known to those who had been there long enough to understand. It took longer for newcomers, the street-found. It wasn’t something that could be taught by word of mouth, but by action and reaction.

Still Mickey eyed the cats wearily until they were out of sight. “Are-are there a lot of cats around here?”

“Sometimes,” Disney said. “Some city cats come and go as they wish, others are here permanently. “This city is large; in some areas, there are more cats. In others, less. We’re in one of the areas with less cats.”

“Ohh,” Mickey said with a nod. “What are the other areas like?”

“Much like this,” Disney said, indicating the surrounding area with his tail. “The further out we go, the less crowded it will it is, on every side. Some areas are occupied by large groups of cats. One large group lives on the outskirts of the city, to the east; two others I know of live within, one to the north, the other south.” Upon finishing speaking, a series of bells tolled somewhere in the distance, echoing through the city walls. Disney looked up in an attempt to trace the sound. He swiveled an ear toward Mickey without looking at him. “Do you hear that?”

“Uh-huh.” Then, “What is it?”

“Church bells,” Disney answered. Now he turned to Mickey. “Those are the bells of the Notre Dame cathedral.” They started off again. “If you ever return to the city streets, Mickey, you must never go there. The fellow in charge of that territory isn’t very welcoming toward new cats. I suspect there will be an uprising soon.”

The kit’s eyes grew round. Such a strange world was that of the city cats. So steeped in unspoken rules and territories and turf wars, all rather overwhelming for a young cat unfamiliar with anything outside his own home. Every street-born kitten had an innated sense of the code and vague territory borders; for street-found cats, this was harder to get a grasp of.

He poked his head out from around Disney’s chest. The alleys peered back at him, though he expected a mass of cats from the cathedral’s doorstep. “He must not be a very nice cat.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, no,” Disney confirmed. “Frollo is anything but.” He left the matter at that.

At the point that the sky had turned red, Disney and Mickey were long out of the range of the bells of Notre Dame. Disney caught another rat, which Mickey begrudgingly shared with him, and they found refuge for the night in a worn cardboard box. They set out early the next morning. Breakfast, much to Mickey’s delight, was not a rat, but a few strips of bacon and piece of chicken Disney discovered in the dumpster of the first restaurant they passed.

They made their journey in pleasant spirits. Disney told Mickey all he could of the day-to-day activities of the street cats. He spared the kit the harsher details: the wars in the north, the growing unrest in the south around Notre Dame, the difficulties of finding food. And not a word left his mouth of the Old Territory. The memory was too fresh. Too much danger lay in speaking of what lived behind the Gates.

The next days of their journey found them sleeping in alleys and under wood staircases. Rats and mice, which Mickey greatly preferred, made up their breakfasts and dinners, with the occasional dumpster raid when they could find a decent one.

And so it was, as promised, that a few days into their travels Disney stopped to teach Mickey how to hunt, beginning with the hunter’s crouch. Mickey sank low to the ground, his belly fur brushed the pavement. But his hind end stuck up in the air and his tail dragged low to compensate for this new position. Disney pushed the kit’s hind end down. “Very good,” he said. “Now raise your tail just a little, yes, like that, excellent.”

As he watched Mickey try again, he couldn’t help but see Oswald, bright-eyed and eager to learn, staring down a flock of geese nesting on a field in the Old Territory. The kit crouched, wiggling his haunches. “Dad, are you gonna teach me how to hunt geese?”

He’d chuckled. “Not today, Oswald. I think geese are a little big for you now. Maybe when you’re older.”

“ _Puh!”_ Oswald had muttered.

But the kit in front of him this time, now beginning to practice his stalking, was not Oswald but Mickey. And the two looked nothing alike. Disney sighed softly. He narrowed his eyes in thought as Mickey stalked across the pavement. “Slow a little,” he said. “Too fast, and a rat might hear you.”

Mickey took the advice to heart and did just that. “Is this better?”

“Much!”

The lesson continued for another while after that, until the sun was rising to its center position in the sky. At that point, Disney decided it would be best for them to move on; Mickey later found the opportunity to test his newly practiced skills. A rat sat nibbling away at a cardboard box, not having yet noticed the cats.

Mickey dropped into the crouch and stalked, just like Disney had showed him. Step by step he grew closer to the unsuspecting rat, stopping in between steps as the little creature paused in its feeding. When, when he was close enough, he sprang, but too soon. The rat scrambled out of the path of his paws; Mickey darted after it, driving it away from the wall, out into the open alley, then chased it straight into Disney’s paws. Disney finished the rat off and met a disappointed Mickey. “That’s alright, son,” he said. “You’ll get it next time. That was very good.”

“Yeah?” Mickey perked up. “Even if I didn’t catch it?”

Disney purred. “Sometimes some of the best catches are made with teamwork.” It hadn’t been uncommon for his cats to catch birds in pairs or groups of three or four. “Let’s eat this and rest for a while,” he said. “We’ve still a long way to go.”

So they settled down in that alley to share the rat. Mickey still grimaced at the sour taste. Disney chewed slowly, thinking of the clan that almost had been. They’d had a good system, a good territory; plenty of food and water, even if they were as close to humans as they were. They’d had all they wanted then, before the skies had gone dark. Before the wra–

Disney didn’t realize Mickey had said something to him until a small paw poked him in the shoulder. “Hmm?” The kit was looking up at him expectantly.

“What are you thinking about?”

Disney swallowed, then sighed. “A group of cats I used to lead,” he said, staring into the streets, down the alleys on the opposite side. The alley he stared down seemed to darken and narrowed, grow loud with a high shriek. He tore his eyes away. “A clan, we called it.”

“Oh.” Mickey chewed thoughtfully on another piece of rat. “Did…something happen?”

A pause. How could Disney tell a six-moon old kit about what haunted the Old Territory without making him jumpier than he already was? Was there a way to do so? No, Disney decided, there wasn’t. If the kit were staying with him, he would wait until Mickey was older. But Mickey wasn’t, so there was no need to mention it.

“We had some disagreements about my leadership,” he answered. “Most of my cats left in favor of another group. The few that stayed left a few weeks later.”

Again, he thought of Ub. What was his old friend up to these days? Had he finally made his way to the Universals? Or had he made his own way in life?

“Why did they leave?”

“There wasn’t much left of the clan by then. It’s a bit hard to have a full clan with only two cats.”

“Do you think you’d ever try again?”

Now Disney stopped chewing. He’d fleetingly thought about it, about starting anew. Finding new cats to join him in a new clan. The failure of the first was all that stopped him thus far from following through. The wounds were fresher than he realized. He sighed. “I’m not sure.”

One day, perhaps he might. For now, he had to return Mickey to his housefolk. The clan would have to wait.

 _And if not in my lifetime, then when?_ Never, appeared to be the likely answer. If Disney didn’t create the clan, no one would. He looked up at the sky. He knew now that he’d been waiting for a sign from StarClan for the beginning of the new clan. His warrior ancestors, at least, had not abandoned him, though he felt farther from them some days. On those days, he reminded himself that the stars still shone over his head. Even if they were quiet.

_I would rather have stars and silence than no stars at all._

“What was the clan like?” Mickey asked.

Disney thought back on those times with fondness. “Small,” he said. “But close. We protected each other. We took care of each other. We may have been small, but we were a family.”

Mickey bit into his rat with a little more enthusiasm than Disney had ever seen. His eyes were bright, filled with thoughts of the clan, of living with a group of other cats. He gulped down the piece and looked up at Disney with a smile. “I think it would be fun to live in a clan,” he said. “If I weren’t going home.”

“Well,” Disney said with a chuckle, “if you don’t live far and I start another, we may be able to work something out.”

“I’d like that,” Mickey said, biting off another chunk of rat. “Can you tell me more?”

And Disney did. He told Mickey where he’d gotten the idea—a lone ginger tom, no stranger to the streets, nor a stranger to travel, who had come a long way from the city and who had come from a large group of cats who called themselves _clans._ They cared for one another, protected their boundaries, and lived alongside three or four other groups—he hadn’t been sure how many.

He told Mickey all about StarClan, the warrior ancestors who watched over the clans and who the clan cats went to in times of hardship and need. He told Mickey of the ranks: the leaders and their seconds-in-command—deputies—who headed the clans; the warriors who hunted and fought for those in their clan, and who trained younger cats to become warriors when they were old enough; the medicine cats, who treated the injured and sick; the elders, the oldest of the clan who held memories from times past, the most revered and respected in the clans; the apprentices, those in training to become warriors.

And Mickey listened with undivided attention and wonder as Disney relayed each detail. When the old tom had finished, Mickey took a breath. “Wow! I can tell my friends I met a real clan cat!”

“Almost,” Disney said with a laugh. “I hadn’t taken my leader name yet.” Leader name, or his nine lives. Each leader got nine new lives, the ginger tom had said. The ceremony itself was kept a secret, but each warrior knew when their new to-be leader left camp for the night that they were off to receive their new lives and name.

“Ohhh,” Mickey said. “Do you think one day you will?”

“If I can start a new clan. Until then, I’m just Disney.”

Their conversation paused while Disney disposed of the rat, then continued when he returned.

“What would your leader name be?” Mickey asked.

“Well, I suppose that depends on what warrior name I took,” Disney mused. “Although I may simply take the name ‘Disneystar.’”

“That sounds nice,” Mickey said. “Could you—” he paused to yawn “—tell me more about clan names?” His head dropped to his paws; he struggled to keep his eyes opened.

“Another time,” Disney said. “Now, I think it’s time to sleep."


	5. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming at you with a real update since the last one was me not paying attention

Another few days had passed since their initial conversation about the clan. They had now crossed into the outer regions of the city. Only another two days’ travel and they would at last have grass under their paws. The houses were only another one- or two-day journey from there. Presently the sky was beginning to turn red, and Disney was leading them to a well-known rest stop among the city cats.

Along the way, Mickey had asked more about clan names, and Disney had told him as much as he knew. “They’re two-part names,” he said, “that describe a cat accurately. Names like Whitewhisker and Nightflower.”

Oh, wow!” Mickey bounced on his paws. “What do you think my name would be?”

With a hum of thought, Disney surveyed Mickey closely. The kit was small, fluffy, cream-colored and with brown points. Mouse? He was small enough. Fennel? His coat was light enough, save for those points. Either one, or something else entirely, could work equally well. As for a suffix—

“I think you’re a bit young to have a full warrior name,” Disney said. “Cats your age were called ‘apprentices’ and had the suffix -paw.”

“I could be an apprentice, then!”

Disney nodded. “I’d have to give some thought to your name,” he said. “There are so many that would fit you.”

As he finished speaking, they came upon a tall, run-down concrete building, formerly a hotel. It had served the human population well until a newer, more up-to-date hotel had been built closer to the city square, rendering this hotel obsolete. And so it went out of business, boarded up and left to rot. The city cats began to take it over after it was clear the humans wouldn’t reclaim the structure or tear it down, and so it became a rest stop for those coming in, going out, or passing through.

The front door had long since been secured with chain and padlock; a hole in the side wall provided the cats with a means to get in and out of the building. What greeted them when they slipped in was a wide-open space, carpeted in red. Sitting in the center of the space was an old desk, bits of the top counter missing with a rusty old lamp sitting on top. The cord had long since been worn away, leaving a series of wires exposed to the air.

All around the lobby were chairs and couches, some covered, some left alone, all occupied by a single cat or groups of cats. Some lay sprawled out on a cushion, others curled side by side. Those not lounging on red fabric cushions lay in makeshift nests of newspaper and old rags in the corners of the room. Some cats had taken up residence on the staircase and tucked into the shelves of the old desk.

Disney went in first, leading Mickey over a fallen wooden beam, through patches of broken glass and stone debris. The last few rays of dying light shone in through a broken window at the top of the grand staircase; others poked in through holes in the walls. He padded over to a darkened, unoccupied corner of the staircase, heavily chipped and worn away by leaking in the roof. A pile of old, musty material lay in the corner, unused. It wasn’t uncommon for departing cats to exchange old bedding for new for the cats that would come after them.

The pair settled down in the nest, Disney against the wall and Mickey against him. He curled his tail around the kit, who stared out at the resting cats while Disney licked one paw.

“Do you know any of them?”

Disney looked up from his paw. Some cats he recognized from brief meetings in the streets: a dark brown tom and his smaller, lighter brown companion; a trio of three—a small black tom; a larger, pale brown tom; and a long-legged brown tom—nestled in one corner. The rest were unfamiliar to him, coming from other parts of the city or outside the city entirely.

“None by name,” he said, scanning the resting cats. “I’ve only met them briefly, hardly long enough to exchange names.” But as he looked, his eyes rested on a haggard, worn out fluffy white tom under a fallen wooden beam. His sides heaved, tongue hanging from his mouth. His eyes appeared bloodshot, they were so red, but in fact that was their natural color. The very sight of the tom uneased Disney.

Mickey shuffled forward. “What it is?” He paused a moment, then asked, “Who is that?”

Disney curled his tail tighter around Mickey. “He’s called White Rabbit,” he answered in a low voice. “He’s the Queen of Heart’s messenger and herald.” And his appearance here, in what the city cats considered neutral territory, was unnerving. Worrying. How far had the Queen’s forces come into the city?

The hotel felt colder. Disney shifted, pressing himself up against the wall. _Perhaps the old boy’s just running an errand,_ he thought. _It isn’t as though we haven’t seen him around before. Always fretting about being late._ Reasonable as it was, it didn’t ease Disney’s fears any less.

“Who’s the Queen of Hearts?”

“A molly who holds power over the northeastern corner of the city,” Disney said. “Far from the friendliest of cats, certainly not one I’d like to run into on our way home.”

Mickey wriggled. “She’s not _here_ is she? You said that was her…her…herald.”

“No,” Disney said, “not here. White Rabbit announces her arrival among her troops. He also runs errands in the city for her every now and then. Mostly he’s around for a stroll. This time I imagine he’s discovered his late for his announcement.” White Rabbit had a habit of that, being late. Not that Disney could really fault him, he supposed; any time spent away from the Queen was a relief.

This time, Disney couldn’t possibly imagine what errand brought White Rabbit this far into the city. Were the Queen’s forces losing? Was he going on a recruitment mission? The Queen losing power was a dream most long-lived city cats had, after the long reign of terror she’d wrought over the area. But for her to lose like this…It was concerning.

_I need to get this kit home as soon as possible. I don’t want him swept up in a war of that caliber._

They laid there and watched the resting cats. Some left, some new arrived, and all the while Disney kept his eyes on White Rabbit. The poor scrap had at last fallen into an uneasy sleep, twitching and jerking, probably dreaming of what would happen if he arrived late at the Queen’s Court.

“Where are they going?” Mickey asked after a while. A yawn lingered at the back of his words.

“Oh, who knows?” Disney said. “The city is a big place. Some might be passing through. Some might be looking for a new place to stay.”

“And some—” now Mickey yawned widely “—might be going to the houses?”

“Oh yes,” Disney said, “they very well might be.” He wasn’t entirely sure if the kit heard him; when Disney looked over, he was fast asleep.

 

 

When morning came, streaming through the broken windows and walls, Disney nudged Mickey into the corner with the notice that he would be going hunting and would come back with a rat for them to share. He didn’t like leaving Mickey on his own for too long, luckily his hunting trip was mercifully short; he managed to procure two rats and brought both back to the hotel. The extra he dropped into a communal fresh-kill pile in one of the drier sections of the main floor—there was always a pile of fresh-kill for visiting cats, left by past visitors—and took the other to where Mickey was now sitting up, swiping a paw over his ear.

“Are we heading out today?” he asked.

Disney dropped the rat at his paws. “If you’d like,” he said. “We’re always welcomed to stay here a few days. They hotel doesn’t have any rules about how long we can stay.” It was a kind of honor system, really. You stayed as long as you liked, so long as you dropped a piece of prey or two in the fresh-kill pile during your stay.

“ _Ha-hup!”_ Mickey laughed. “I’d like.”

Disney laughed. “Well, let’s eat this rat first, and then we can be on our way.”

It was after they’d eaten and replaced the bedding of the nest they’d occupied, Disney and Mickey were on their way again. They slipped out of the hotel the same way they’d come in, through the hole in the wall on the other side of the lobby. The air outside was cooler but less stuffy than that inside the hotel; Mickey sneezed at the change in temperature.

Disney took a moment to stretch. He’d noticed as they’d eaten that White Rabbit had risen and left long before they had. He imagined the poor thing was spurred on by his anxiety, his fear of being late. He hoped StarClan would keep an eye out for him and get him home safely.

_And keep him safe._

The Queen of Hearts was not a molly to be trifled with.

“This way.” He led Mickey out around the corner of the hotel. The city streets, more decrepit here than in the past areas, were lined with boarded up apartments and factories and old shops. Litter lined the sidewalks and alleys. The rare care passed them by, a small group passing through to the heart of the city.

Mickey crouched low against Disney as they passed by boarded up and even burned buildings, skeletons of the flourishing dwellings they’d once been. He looked back and forth across the street, ears up and swiveling constantly, eyes searching every inch of the streets. “Does anyone live here?”

“Humans, not so much now,” Disney said with a sigh, looking over the street. “Cats, maybe. I don’t come this way if I don’t have to. I’m not sure who lives here now.” He wasn’t sure that anyone had lived here since the Queen’s war with the mountain cats had become; in fact, the only reason the cats further into the city knew of the conflict at all was because of cats who were fleeing the area. Nor was he sure that the Queen’s Guard wasn’t lurking in the broken windows and missing doors.

This place put him on edge.

“Stay close,” he whispered to Mickey. They padded through the streets slowly, stepping carefully over broken glass and other refuse: cardboard boxes, bits of paper, bricks and stones. All kinds of unwanted human trash scattered across the pavement. Mickey was practically underneath Disney as they went, jumping at every sound. Disney was careful not to step on him.

It was too quiet. That was the only thought running through Disney’s mind. There were no birds here, no cars, no people, no cats. Not even the distant screeches of warring parties. Only the wind and shifting cardboard and paper. Indeed, everything had left long ago, never to return.

The hair along his spine stood. This was too much like the Old Territory. It was unsettling peace. The calm before the storm, where something lurked at every corner. Something watched them from the shadows. Something bent on driving them from this place or taking their lives in the process.

It wasn’t a thought he could shake. He at last picked Mickey—mercifully small enough—up and went along as fast as he could. He swore the air behind him darkened; the streets narrowed and blackened, a wraith shuffled along at an agonizingly slow, watery pace. It groaned. A wave of slime flowed from its mouth.

Then he heard its voice: a sharp, grating sound, choked by slime, calling his name.

_Diiiiii-eeeeeyyyy!_


	6. Chapter 4

_DIIIIIII-EEEEEEYYYY!_

And then he was running. Mickey bounced against his chest with a hiss of surprise. The sludgy shuffle of the black shadow behind rang in his ears, thick and heavy. It let out another sound, a low crooning, groaning of anger and despair as Disney escaped its grasp.

It called to him again, a gurgly distorted voice. He pressed on, ears flat against his head, listening for the moment when the sloshing grew faint. StarClan help him if it didn’t. There was nothing to climb. He couldn’t climb with Mickey in his jaws. 

He smelled rotting leaves. He smelled blood. Oswald was in his jaws. They were barreling toward the Gates. The shadows kept pace with them.

The wraith gave another screech. This one wordless, mangled, carrying every ounce of rage in its shadowy form.

Disney rounded a corner, paws skittering on broken glass.

The skies cleared.

They were blue and sparsely spotted with clouds. The sun was shining. A cool breeze ruffled his pelt, carrying the scents of musty old building and trash and decaying wood. The streets were as they had been: empty and silent. The smell of rot and death was nowhere to be found.

Disney dropped Mickey at his paws. It had all been the product of his imagination. His overactive imagination.

_Of course. The wraith could never come this far from the Old Territory. Not where the stars shine._ But its all too clear screeches lingered in his ears.

At his paws, Mickey sat shaken and confused. “What was that?”

“My apologies, son,” Disney said, catching his breath. “I’m not fond of streets this quiet. I thought I’d heard something.”

Mickey nodded but continued to eye Disney with concern and intrigue as Disney stared out into the empty streets before them. Of all the ways the incident in the Old Territory could affect him, Disney hadn’t thought that would be one of them. Never before had he been so convinced that the wraith had found its way beyond the Gates, heard it so clearly in his ears. The quiet was getting to him more than he realized.

“W-would you tell me?” Mickey asked. “What it was you heard?” He peered behind Disney. “It sounds like it was pretty scary.”

Disney hesitated. He hadn’t planned on telling Mickey anything of the Old Territory. It _was_ scary—too scary for a cat his age; it was more than a regular ghost story told around nesting sites. “I don’t think that’s a story you’d like to hear,” he said at last. “I think it may be too much for you.”

The kit squirmed uncomfortably. “Will…whatever it was…come back?”

“No,” Disney said, glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t think so.” Then, after a pause, said, “Let’s…keep moving,” and Mickey was all too happy to oblige.

They went on along their current path, sticking to the sidewalk, skirting around patches of glass and other dangerous materials. The sun rose to its highest point in the sky, at which time Disney attempted to hunt but found nothing. Despite all the trash and potential food sources for small animals, nothing was around, and on the one rat he did find managed to evade his grasp.

He wasn’t terribly surprised. As they rounded another corner, he began to pick up the scent of cats. It was stale, no more than a few days old, but it wasn’t a scent he wanted to smell. It was a scent marking left by the mountain cats, the Huns. He and Mickey were getting closer to contested territory.

They still had daylight, at least. If they kept at their current pace, they could make it out of the area by sundown. Disney didn’t want to stay here overnight.

The longer they stayed, the more on edge Disney became. Not because of the possibility of a wraith stalking him in the shadows, but because of the feeling of eyes burning into his pelt from the empty windows of the old factory buildings. He caught a glimpse of a pair of yellow eyes in one window; when he turned to look, they were gone.

He urged Mickey on.

For the next few streets, they carried on with the feeling of being watched, until at last it stopped. Disney should have felt relief, but instead he felt fear; his fur prickled, his stomach knotted. He felt that there was something wrong in _not_ being watched now. Not being watched meant that someone was following them.

He paused to taste the air. A heavy cat scent was coming toward them on a gentle breeze. It wasn’t stale, but fresh, and it was getting closer to them. He nudged Mickey toward a nearby alley, filled with stacked boxes. “Into that box—quickly!”

The kit scrambled into the box, Disney close behind. They crouched as far against the back as they could manage; Disney put himself over Mickey to protect him. The cat scent was growing stronger.

_At least five of them. Maybe more._

He prayed to StarClan that the cats would pass them by.

No such luck.

The face of a small brown cat appeared in the entrance of the box; Disney hissed with surprise; Mickey crouched lower. The cat curled his lip, grinning with pale eyes, then turned and motioned with a nod of his head to another cat out of their line of vision. The small tom stood aside as another cat approached. Disney’s heart sank.

The new cat was even larger than the first, larger than Disney, with a thick mane of fur around his neck. His thick dark brown fur marked him as a mountain cat; his unusual black and yellow eyes marked him as a cat widely feared.

“Shan Yu.”

The massive tom grinned, showing a set of fangs nearly as large as Mickey’s paw. “Disney.” His voice was calm and raspy, almost pleasant to hear, if not for the threat lacing his words. “It’s not often we see city center cats in these parts. What brings you here—oh.” He stared down at Mickey with a tilt of his head. “Is he yours?”

“No,” Disney answered, wishing for a moment the answer was _yes._ “I’m bringing him back to his housefolk.”

Shan Yu hummed. “I see. You know,” he said, sitting down to lick one forepaw. “These streets aren’t safe for cats such as yourselves. There _is_ a war going on.”

“So I’ve heard,” Disney said. “I thought it would be over by now. Are the Queen’s forces giving you that much trouble?”

Shan Yu huffed. “The Queen’s forces are hardly a challenge. She’s killed more of her own army than we have.” He lifted his chin, looking proud of himself, then gazed around at the towering, rundown brick factories around them as a gentle breeze swept through. “The war should end soon,” he mused. “The winds are favorable.”

Disney hummed indifferently. Whatever the outcome of the war, the effect would ripple into the city. If Shan Yu won, the city streets would change forever. The Queen’s guard, in the heart of the city, no doubt looking to reestablish themselves. Frollo and his Peacekeepers suddenly at war with an invading lot. The bloodshed would pour over into the city. How many cats would die then? Innocents caught up in the war, kits like Mickey?

The breeze faded; Shan Yu looked back to Disney and Mickey. “Where did you say you were off to?”

“The houses.”

“Ah.” The massive cat nodded, ears flattened in thought. “Yes. And to get there, you’ll have to cross through the battlefield.” He narrowed his eyes. Then he smiled, showing his long fangs. “Perhaps my cats can provide an escort?” he offered. “After all, these streets are dangerous for a pair like yourselves.”

Though Mickey trembled and puffed up, Disney forced his fur to lie flat and accept the offer. It was better to temporarily have Shan Yu on his side than to have to fight any of the massive mountain cats off if they put a paw wrong.

Shan Yu stepped side and allowed the pair to emerge from the box. The group of cats gathered in the alley, besides Shan Yu and the smaller brown tom, consisted of three large toms—two near-identical tabbies—a tall, slim black tom with thin yellow eyes, and a ragged black-furred tom with long claws. All far bigger, far more skilled, and far more dangerous than Disney.

“My lieutenants and I will escort you to the city border,” Shan Yu said, circling back around to face Disney and Mickey. “After that, we will leave you.”

Disney dipped his head. “We’re grateful for any protection you can offer.” He suspected there would be a price for this protection; it didn’t seem likely that Shan Yu would offer it to them simply out of the kindness of his heart. 

But the mountain cat said nothing more on the matter. He went to the front of the group, directing his members with a single wave of his tail to circle around Disney and Mickey. Stuck at the center of the group, they had no choice but to follow along behind Shan Yu.


End file.
